


Ti Amo

by Deadly_Sirius



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Adopted!Race, Alternate Universe - College/University, College!AU, Cute, Explicit Language, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Orphan!Spot, Tickling, italian!race, obvi, sprace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 12:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20407762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deadly_Sirius/pseuds/Deadly_Sirius
Summary: Racer doesn't want to wake up for class, not even a little. He wasn't planning on it until his boyfriend barges in and demands bagels.





	Ti Amo

**Author's Note:**

> Fluffy sprace ft. backstory and Race's Italian. Translations in the ending notes!

"Hey, Race! Racetrack! Race!"

The yelling woke Race up from his lovely mid-morning nap, between his early practice and afternoon classes. He groaned as he slammed a pillow over his head.

"Racer?" The voice continued to call out. His door was pushed open. Getting an apartment for Junior year was supposed to _prevent_ people from walking into his room uninvited, but Spot didn't abide by typical human standards.

"Antonio Giovanni Higgins!"

He hated how stupid his name sounded. Italian first and middle names with an idiotic last name that didn't even belong to him. Raised in a proud and loud Italian household--mind you, in Italy, he had to constantly remind people--Race had filled the name. But a car crash on the way to a friend's wedding in Spain left him without anyone to remember his last name besides him. His extended family wasn't well off; nobody he knew was, and taking in an extra kid was a large endeavor. So an American family adopted him when he was five. They were nice enough but changing his name to Higgins, Irish in nationality, was still a crime to him.

"Vaffanculo, Sean."

"Oh, 'Sean'-ing me? You're not nearly close enough to cumming for that," Spot teased as his fingers found Race's sides. "Come on Tony. Tonyyyyy. Antonio. Tones, come on, get up."

"Fuck off!" Racer repeated, this time in English, trying to shove Spot's arms away as the shorter student continued to tickle him. "Come on, Coach held us late and I woke up at six in the fucking morning," Race begged.

"Too bad. I want bagels and Albert's being lame as fuck right now."

"Go with Kelly," Race mumbled into his pillow happily as Spot let up on the tickling.

"Jack Kelly is the largest pain in my ass ever and I fucking hate him," Spot announced. "I'm only civil with him because all of his friends are hot, dork." Spot had, in fact, met Racer because of Jack Kelly.

"Watch your mouth, Conlon," Race replied, turning ever so slightly to open one eye halfway at Spot.

"Alas! He wakes!"

"I'm still not getting bagels with you. Go with Davey if you hate Jack so much."

"With Davey comes Jack."

"In more ways than one," Racer said with a wicked grin.

"He's conscious enough to make dirty jokes, I count that as a win," Spot announced. He grabbed Race around the torso and heaved him onto his shoulder. "Fuck, you're getting heavier," he wheezed, standing up from the bed while carrying Race.

"I hate bagels and I hate you. Put me down, you figlio di puttana."

"Don't insult my mama like that," Spot chided as he carried Race out of his bedroom.

Race, exasperated, hit his fists on Spot's back. "You don't have a mother!"

"We're getting bagels and that's final. I'm not putting you down until you understand that."

"Fine! Uncle! We can get fucking bagels, cazzo!"

Race had been clinging to the entrance into the living room from the hallway. He let go and Spot set him down. "You're so vulgar in the morning," he said with a smirk.

Frowning and rumpled, Racer flipped Spot off and managed to pour himself a cold cup of coffee from the pot Crutchie had made for Jack. He cradled his cup and leaned against the counter, watching Spot who stood in the doorway.

"Don't give me that look, you wouldn't have woken up for your Pysch class in two hours unless I came over."

"Just because you're correct doesn't make you right," Race grumbled.

Spot smiled inwardly at the lumpy hair and sheet lines imprinted on Race's arms. The old, loose t-shirt didn't look very warm and Race was standing barefoot in boxers on tile. Spot was never a sap, ever. He took care of people because he knew what it felt like to not have anyone to care for you, and that was it. But whenever he saw Race, his inner loser came out.

It was a problem when they first started dating. Spot loved Race more than anyone in the world and didn't know how to keep his image, how to hold onto his personality of never needing to be saved when all he wanted to do was be vulnerable and romantic around Racer. Eventually, he figured it out. He learned to tease lovingly, he learned to open himself up more, he learned to smile and nod whenever somebody commented on how loving Race that much wasn't badass. Spot didn't care because he had the perfect, most beautiful boy in the world for himself.

"Lemme," Spot said quietly. Race surrendered his mug for Spot and watched him place it into the microwave. "You look cold."

"Well, I would be warm and blissfully unaware of Psych if I was asleep." Race tried to shoot him a dirty look but softened at Spot's tilted head and dumb smile. Anytime he looked at Race, he took the time to _look_ at him.

When Spot handed him his coffee back, Race whispered a quick "Grazie," before taking a sip.

Race could converse fully in Italian, his phone's language was set to Italian, he never stopped talking about the few memories he had as a very young boy of Italy, of the orphanage ran by nuns that he stayed in for a year before getting adopted. He always wanted to go back to Italy but never could save enough money for a trip. His fluency was being wasted, in Spot's opinion, on short phrases and swear words he knew Spot understood through repetition. It was Spot's dream to become fluent in Italian and surprise Race by taking him back to his country, but money and time stood fairly firmly in his way. He'd do it one day, though.

Spot also knew that with both his biological and adoptive family, Race grew up with religion. He remembered the art and the churches of Italy the best, the ones he'd cram into with his family in his small, poor town. It was a point of conflict when they started dating as Spot despised catholicism and was a proud atheist. He learned to reign it in when Race taught him about the love religion is supposed to preach, and the stories of religion in Italy and in his family. They even said grace before their meals together, now.

"Hey," Spot said quietly as he nestled into Race's side. "I love you." He pressed a kiss to Race's cheek, not needing to stretch as the substantially taller student was slumped. "I'm so happy to be with you."

"Dio mio! I get it, you want bagels." Race sighed and pushed off the counter, heading back towards his room for pants and his backpack.

Spot laughed. "I mean it!"

Race looked back at Spot. "Ti amo anch'io, Spotty."

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/Comment if you liked it!
> 
> Vaffanculo - Fuck you  
Figlio di puttana - Son of a bitch  
Cazzo - Fuck!  
Grazie - Thanks  
Dio mio - Good Lord  
Ti amo anch'io - I love you too


End file.
